The Parting Glass
by abitofyou
Summary: Set after HB. Spike is forced to decide how he will spend the final hours of his unlife.
1. 'all the harm I've ever done, alas it wa...

Title: The Parting Glass, chapter one  
Author: Abitofyou (was foolforlover)  
Rating: chapter one is rated pg  
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know so I can be giddy with delight. You can find this and other stories at my site Savage/Love, http://mop.to/savagelove.  
Feedback: Abitofyou@aol.com, or FoolForLover@aol.com  
  
  
I am ridiculous. I know it. So do all the creatures in this establishment. The bartender's laughing inside. Every lost soul in this place is congratulating themselves on not being so lost as I am. And those demons watching at the window, well they're just loving every bloody minute of it.   
  
There's this beastie beside me humming an irish tune I almost recognize. It's simple, old, and melancholy. And painfully appropriate. It's takin impressive amounts of vodka to ward off nostalgia right now, and this sodding serenade isn't making it any easier.  
  
"Hey. Ogre. I'd prefer to get pissed without the soundtrack."  
  
"So cover your ears", he says, and he lets these slimy flaps down over two of the many appendages on his head. I gather they're meant to be his ears. I see this smug grin spread all over his trash heap of a face.   
  
"Very droll. Now shut it."  
  
He does, clever thing. But the melody continues to ring in my head. I try to drown it out with vodka, absinthe, a pint of blood. I've just about succeeded when one of the demons leaves his twin at the window and slinks up behind me. He reminds me that I've only got so much time left and wonders if I really fancy spending it at the bar.  
  
"Sod off", I say; turning my face from his rank, hot breath.  
  
"Tick tock", he whispers, and I've never heard an uglier sound.  
  
When I woke up tonight, these two skulky dark demons were reaching for me. They threw me out of bed and I couldn't stop them. They dragged me off and I couldn't fight them. Because they were too strong to resist. Or maybe there was no struggle because I was grateful not to wake alone again; thankful to be held up.  
  
If it *was* gratitude I was feeling, it wore off quick enough. See, I learned a long time ago that gratitude is worthless. If you've got it, or if someone's got it for you, it's still bollocks. Gratitude fills you up, makes you feel like you matter, like you've changed something because you care, but you haven't. You can't. Feeling grateful is nearly as useless as feeling guilty.  
  
They let go of me and I crashed onto cool hard ground. I looked around and saw the walls of a crypt. I thought maybe I'd dreamed them. I thought it didn't matter. I was back on *my* cold floor. 'Sod it, here is the hunter home from the hill", I thought. Til I tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes and found my hands covered in ashes. This wasn't my crypt. There were no dead resting near me. I could feel the demons behind me, sliding against the walls, almost merging with the stone.   
  
"You know what's on your hands?"   
  
I could barely see where the voice was coming from, it dripped our of the cracks in the ceiling, bounced off the ruined coffins on the ground. The other one ended up in front of me. His skin was the color of wet earth. He seemed about to crumble around the edges. But there was a dark density that started at his center and moved through him. He had a foul, undulating look about him. He snaked closer to me.   
  
"Do you know what's on your hands?"  
  
"The slithering really doesn't flatter you mate."  
  
I looked up at him. I couldn't find his eyes.  
  
"Answer him, half breed."  
  
His partner slid up beside him. And I remembered who I was. I was finished with these ghouls. I lunged at the thing, but before I could put him in his bloody place, I was on the ground again. I tasted blood mingled with ashes. They *were* strong.   
  
"I know what this is", I said. "Dead vampires. You need a good hoover." I could guess at what the hell they were doing with piles of vamp remains. I would've prayed that I was wrong, but I have no one to pray to. 


	2. 'since it falls unto my lot, that I shou...

"Do you know why you're here?", the murkier one asked. He seemed to be the leader.  
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"Do you know what we're going to do with you?", asked the underling, all too gleefully.   
  
"No. Why don't you tell me?"  
  
The leader interrupted right then. He did barely more than whisper, but his voice filled the tomb.   
  
"We're getting a little ahead of ourselves. Forgive my deciple, he is young and eager. Right now I want to discuss the why of things."   
  
He spoke in a low monotone, his words vibrated in my head.  
  
I surveyed the room. The walls were bloody high, and the door looked like it'd been locked from the outside. It was taking longer than I liked to come up with a way out.   
  
"You're here because you're a perversion", he hissed at me.  
  
"Thanks for the kind words love."  
  
"A vampire is an abomination by definition."   
  
'Bloody hell', I thought. I knew who these demons were, couldn't remember what they were called right then, but I knew that they fancied themselves the be all and end all of demon kind, the crème del la crème. Vampires were too human for them, we're weak.  
  
Once, before anyone living or living-dead can remember, everyone else fancied them quite posh as well. They wreaked all manor of bloody havoc in their day. Till some big plan for dimensional domination went a bit pair shaped. Last I heard they'd been sulking about in some hell or another, lecturing about the corruption of the demon race. Bloody elitist bastards.   
  
"Right. According to you blokes, a vampire doesn't deserve to touch the ground you slide on. We're not pure."  
  
"You're clever for a mutt", said the minion, ducked off in some corner where I couldn't see him.  
  
"Call me that to my face you nazi prat!"  
  
I pulled myself off the ground and charged for him, but I didn't get far. Suddenly my arms were pinned behind my back. I was helpless, again.   
  
"So you hate vampires. I *am* one. I reckon you'd prefer a whole different sort of company."  
  
He ignored me. It was like I wasn't even forming words. It felt like the last time I talked to Buffy. But not half so painful.  
  
"As I said, a vampire is an abomination, but you, you're a disgrace."  
  
I meant to say something, something clever, but apparently I couldn't form words.  
  
"You kill your own kind. You kill far above your own kind. You feel love for your enemies"  
  
"Enemy", I managed. "No plural."  
  
"And yet you lived and killed alongside her friends when she wad dead. I used to be a great admirer of yours. You destroyed humans and slayers alike. You overcame a pathetic existence as a man, to become a powerful killer, you nearly changed my opinion of vampires. I thought maybe I had underestimated your kind. But I look at you now and I've never seen a weaker creature."   
  
Oh God. As if I hadn't lamented over all that. As if I didn't dream every day about what I used to be, and what I've become. I didn't need some demon with a prodigious superiority complex telling me I was weak, I bloody well know it.  
  
"What do you want with me?"  
  
I knew what, but my mind was reeling, trying to come up with another reason. What else could they want with a vampire? What else could they be doing with vamp dust?   
  
"For years we've watched the demons of this world become corrupt and weak. Mingling with humans. Turning on each other. We mean to change that, to bring some unity and some order back to our race. We've undertaken to eliminate those demons that no longer contribute to our kind."  
  
"Right. That's a bloody elaborate excuse for killing vampires. You hate us. Deal. You can't kill us all."  
  
"No we can't. You're right. We aren't about to try to kill all the vampires in this world. It's impossible. We're starting small. You see Spike, a creature like you, whose lost his identity, whose sense of his demon self is so weak that he can slaughter his own kind and fight for humans, is a perfect example of the decline of our race. The first step to creating a dominant, unified society is getting rid of disasters like you William."  
  
I wasn't sure if I'd heard him. I was trying to wrap my mind around his words. I tried to pretend that I'd imagined them.  
  
"So what are you saying?"  
  
God, I don't know why I asked him. I don't know why I wanted to hear it.  
  
"You're here for your execution."  
  
The words leaked out of him, like something abandoned and meaningless.   
  
But what he was saying meant everything, it meant that I was going to die if I didn't figure a way out of there.   
  
My blood felt heavy, my insides sunk. The underling let go of me and I fell. I kept falling. The ashes seemed to get thicker as I tried to move through them. I didn't understand how his voice could be so empty. There was no anger, no hatred, no desire.   
  
Executed. It sounded so bloody clinical, so chock full of formula.  
  
It made me want to heave. I felt sick with rage. My death couldn't be a generic punishment. It couldn't be procedure. If I was gonna die at someone's hands it was gonna be because they hated me, because they *wanted* me dead. Because I'd lost the fight. It wouldn't make any sense any other way, it wouldn't fit. If I was going to die again it had to be glorious. It had to be nothing like my life. 


	3. this chapter is a ffn mistake. sorry

"Do you know why you're here?", the murkier one asked. He seemed to be the leader.  
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"Do you know what we're going to do with you?", asked the underling, all too gleefully.   
  
"No. Why don't you tell me?"  
  
The leader interrupted right then. He did barely more than whisper, but his voice filled the tomb.   
  
"We're getting a little ahead of ourselves. Forgive my deciple, he is young and eager. Right now I want to discuss the why of things."   
  
He spoke in a low monotone, his words vibrated in my head.  
  
I surveyed the room. The walls were bloody high, and the door looked like it'd been locked from the outside. It was taking longer than I liked to come up with a way out.   
  
"You're here because you're a perversion", he hissed at me.  
  
"Thanks for the kind words love."  
  
"A vampire is an abomination by definition."   
  
'Bloody hell', I thought. I knew who these demons were, couldn't remember what they were called right then, but I knew that they fancied themselves the be all and end all of demon kind, the crème del la crème. Vampires were too human for them, we're weak.  
  
Once, before anyone living or living-dead can remember, everyone else fancied them quite posh as well. They wreaked all manor of bloody havoc in their day. Till some big plan for dimensional domination went a bit pair shaped. Last I heard they'd been sulking about in some hell or another, lecturing about the corruption of the demon race. Bloody elitist bastards.   
  
"Right. According to you blokes, a vampire doesn't deserve to touch the ground you slide on. We're not pure."  
  
"You're clever for a mutt", said the minion, ducked off in some corner where I couldn't see him.  
  
"Call me that to my face you nazi prat!"  
  
I pulled myself off the ground and charged for him, but I didn't get far. Suddenly my arms were pinned behind my back. I was helpless, again.   
  
"So you hate vampires. I *am* one. I reckon you'd prefer a whole different sort of company."  
  
He ignored me. It was like I wasn't even forming words. It felt like the last time I talked to Buffy. But not half so painful.  
  
"As I said, a vampire is an abomination, but you, you're a disgrace."  
  
I meant to say something, something clever, but apparently I couldn't form words.  
  
"You kill your own kind. You kill far above your own kind. You feel love for your enemies"  
  
"Enemy", I managed. "No plural."  
  
"And yet you lived and killed alongside her friends when she wad dead. I used to be a great admirer of yours. You destroyed humans and slayers alike. You overcame a pathetic existence as a man, to become a powerful killer, you nearly changed my opinion of vampires. I thought maybe I had underestimated your kind. But I look at you now and I've never seen a weaker creature."   
  
Oh God. As if I hadn't lamented over all that. As if I didn't dream every day about what I used to be, and what I've become. I didn't need some demon with a prodigious superiority complex telling me I was weak, I bloody well know it.  
  
"What do you want with me?"  
  
I knew what, but my mind was reeling, trying to come up with another reason. What else could they want with a vampire? What else could they be doing with vamp dust?   
  
"For years we've watched the demons of this world become corrupt and weak. Mingling with humans. Turning on each other. We mean to change that, to bring some unity and some order back to our race. We've undertaken to eliminate those demons that no longer contribute to our kind."  
  
"Right. That's a bloody elaborate excuse for killing vampires. You hate us. Deal. You can't kill us all."  
  
"No we can't. You're right. We aren't about to try to kill all the vampires in this world. It's impossible. We're starting small. You see Spike, a creature like you, whose lost his identity, whose sense of his demon self is so weak that he can slaughter his own kind and fight for humans, is a perfect example of the decline of our race. The first step to creating a dominant, unified society is getting rid of disasters like you William."  
  
I wasn't sure if I'd heard him. I was trying to wrap my mind around his words. I tried to pretend that I'd imagined them.  
  
"So what are you saying?"  
  
God, I don't know why I asked him. I don't know why I wanted to hear it.  
  
"You're here for your execution."  
  
The words leaked out of him, like something abandoned and meaningless.   
  
But what he was saying meant everything, it meant that I was going to die if I didn't figure a way out of there.   
  
My blood felt heavy, my insides sunk. The underling let go of me and I fell. I kept falling. The ashes seemed to get thicker as I tried to move through them. I didn't understand how his voice could be so empty. There was no anger, no hatred, no desire.   
  
Executed. It sounded so bloody clinical, so chock full of formula.  
  
It made me want to heave. I felt sick with rage. My death couldn't be a generic punishment. It couldn't be procedure. If I was gonna die at someone's hands it was gonna be because they hated me, because they *wanted* me dead. Because I'd lost the fight. It wouldn't make any sense any other way, it wouldn't fit. If I was going to die again it had to be glorious. It had to be nothing like my life. 


End file.
